


The Time that is Given Us

by orphan_account



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: (thanks infection), Gen, Minor Body Horror, not sure if this is canon divergent or au bc we know zilch about the great knights, they just seem so cool, this is basically me filling in the lore gaps lol, what happened to them??? will we ever know???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: orphaned because I was discouraged by how it was turning out, but I might rewrite it at some point. sorry to anyone who was keeping up with it, and thank you to everyone that supported it. <3





	1. Now Far Ahead the Road has Gone

“Message! Message from his Great and Royal Majesty the King!” A white-robed messenger burst through the arched doorway into one of the White Palace’s many courtyards, where the five Great Knights were training during a break in their shifts.

Isma, small and lithe, dashed underneath Ogrim’s great strikes with his fists, her thin nail slashing, but doing little damage against his thick armor. Hegemol, Ze’mer, and Dryya were sparring three-way next to them, Hegemol and Ze’mer’s enormous nails clanging deafeningly as they clashed, and both of them cleaving wide arcs of air as they futilely tried to cut the agile Dryya down from midair as she spun and struck, weaving between them. The battle moved almost too quickly for mortal eyes, an incredible show of skill, though none of the involved parties seemed aware of it.  
All five wore shimmering white armor, the color broken only by the occasional shade of gray, and the strikingly bright green leaves Isma wove around herself.

“Yes? What is it?” Isma broke off her spar with Ogrim, as the others clattered to a halt.

“Message from the King,” The bug panted. “Tomorrow... two hours after dawn... he—he needs to... see you all in the throne room. There’s something... he has something to speak to you all about.” The messenger regained his composure, though still breathing rather heavily. “He says it’s of the utmost importance.”

“Of course we accept,” Isma smiled. The messenger nodded, and ran back out the door.

“I don’t like this,” Dryya frowned as soon as he was gone. “The King has been... up to something, lately. And whatever it is is upsetting my Lady.” Said upsetting of the Lady had put Dryya on edge for the past few weeks, evidenced by the many, many bruises she left on all of her sparring partners.

“I’m sure it’s nothing too serious,” Hegemol said.

“Perhaps it has something to with the Deepnest creatures, or that plague springing up on the edge of the Kingdom,” Ogrim offered.

“He hasn’t been making wise decisions regarding either of those issues,” Dryya retorted. “His treaty with the Mantis tribe to hold off the spiders left them far too much influence in the Fungal Wastes, and it seems like he’s been ignoring the plague entirely.”

“Nonetheless, zhi’ all owe him much,” Ze’mer sighed. “And zhi’ loyalty belongs to him and the people zhi’ serve.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dryya scoffed. “My loyalty belongs to my Lady. Any allegiance I owe the King is through her alone.”

“Be careful what you say in these halls,” Hegemol chastised, his deep voice rumbling. Ze’mer shook her head, took her enormous nail, and left the courtyard. The bell had not yet tolled, but she preferred to be early to her post.

“Yes, because his exalted Majesty can hear me from ten rooms away through hardened shell, iron and roots,” Dryya rolled her eyes.

“The Pale King is a mysterious creature, my friend,” Isma said gently. “Many think him a god—“

“Hogwash,” Dryya spat.

“It matters not what you think of him,” Isma’s voice sharpened only slightly, but enough that Dryya quieted. “It only matters that he is an incredibly powerful bug, if bug he truly is. And your Lady loves him, yes?” She placed a hand on Dryya’s armored shoulder. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Dryya shrugged off Isma’s hand, though not unkindly. “It is not. However...” she shook her head. “I suppose it will have to be.” She turned and left, as the many clocks in the palace began to strike the coming of afternoon. She went to resume her usual place at the White Lady’s side, as the remaining three Knights gathered their own belongings to return to their own posts and assignments.

“He and the Lady are the leaders of our Kingdom and its people,” Ogrim spoke up after she had gone. He had been a part of the Great Knights for some time now, though Dryya had yet to accept him fully, and he often hesitated under her harsh scrutiny. “Our mission is to protect the people, and to serve directly under the King is the best way to do it. He has done so much for us! How can she harbor doubt?”

“...Dryya,” Isma sighed, “is a doubtful bug. And it is not...” she hesitated. “It is not unwise for her to doubt the crown that we obey. To rush headlong into loyalty is... foolish. But the Pale King has proved himself worthy, and has most notably not proved himself unworthy, yet still she refuses to give it.” She shrugged, a little helplessly. “It is her choice to make, and ultimately, her consequences to bear—though as her friends, we will make them lighter to carry.”

“I... believe I understand,” Ogrim nodded, still frowning slightly, but he looked more contemplative than concerned. “Thank you, Isma.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Now go. You have wall duty, remember, and the Guard-Captain will be angry if you’re late again.”

“Ah, yes! Right!” Ogrim snatched his nail and slung it across his back, before hurrying out of the courtyard.

“Your student does you credit,” Hegemol said with a fond smile once he was gone. Isma grinned at her old friend.

“I did my best.”

Ze’mer’s head appeared from behind an arched doorway. “You wait too long, and nym’King becomes anxious. Che’ has places to be going other than finding mela’friends, no? Chop-chop!” She clapped her hands impatiently, but smiled before swiftly leaving, her robes and veils trailing behind her.

“Yes, yes, we’re coming,” Isma called, and slung her nail across her back before hurrying after her, Hegemol not far behind.

***

The coming morning saw three of the five warriors anxiously waiting outside of the throne room’s enormous, intricately carved doors. Dryya and Ze’mer were both already inside, guarding the two thrones and their rulers upon the dais.  
It wasn’t long before two guards from inside heaved the great doors open, and the Knights straightened and walked slowly into the room.

As with every other room in the White Palace, the throne room was strikingly white, carved with sharp, angular lines and swirling silver designs, draped with pale, shimmering vines. But the throne room always seemed to glow brighter, though whether it was the room’s high elevation or the presence of the two rulers of Hallownest was up for debate.

As the three Knights bowed and stood dutifully in a line in front of their lieges, the other two left their posts at the King and Queen’s side and joined them. There was a long moment of silence before the King finally addressed them.

“You five were named my Great Knights for a reason.” He stood from his throne, his aura of power managing to make him imposing despite his rather diminutive stature. “You are strong, powerful, and skilled in the many arts of combat and court.” He paused.

“I have a request to make of you.”

The five Knights did not dare shift to glance at each other nervously, but they certainly would have had they not been in the company of the King himself.

“Bring out the Vessel,” he called sharply. From a servant’s doorway, a small bug in a flowing white robe bowed frantically, and practically shoved the tiniest bug they’d ever seen into the room before bowing once more and leaving, slamming the door behind her. The little thing was easily not even half as tall as Isma, who was the smallest of the Knights, and wore a long white cloak that covered their entire form. Their white mask covered their entire face, leaving only two large, wide holes for their eyes, and no visible mouth or sensory appendages. Two serrated horns raised regally from atop their head.

They looked... like a child.

They stood straight-backed and walked dutifully to the King’s side, standing a few steps behind and to the right.

“Our kingdom is being hunted down by a terrible force,” the Pale King continued. “This is the Vessel, the Hollow Knight that will contain it. Do not be fooled by its appearance—it is not a child, nor is it even sentient. It was created to contain in the infection slowly spreading throughout Hallownest, nothing more.”

In his peripheral vision, Ogrim tried to gauge the small creature for a response to that, but it didn’t react. Didn’t so much as fidget.

Dryya noticed the White Lady look away from the Vessel, and stare intently at the designs on the wall across from her.

“The Hollow Knight will accompany me whenever I am not in the Palace,” the Pale King said, ”However, because of this, it will need to be trained in the ways of combat. I will ensure it will understand to obey your every command.” He paused, scrutinizing each of the Knights in turn.

“You will have today to put together a program for it. Training begins tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The five Great Knights each bowed deeply, and left the throne room.

“I don’t like this,” Dryya hissed as soon as they reached their courtyard. “I refuse to become a babysitter at the King’s whim. Taking care of anything, child or not, is far beyond my pay grade.”

“Zhi’ cannot refuse nym’King’s request,” Ze’mer shrugged.

“You should think it an honor!” Ogrim said enthusiastically. “That little Vessel is going to save our Kingdom, and we’re the ones who get to train it!”

“And besides,” Isma smiled, “it was rather adorable. I think this could be fun.”

“Think what you will,” Dryya shook her head. “I will not have anything to do with this beyond what my duty requires.”

“Very well,” Isma shrugged.

“You will miss many great shenanigans,” Ze’mer taunted.

“I have plenty of blackmail already, thank you,” Dryya said flatly, but the faint smile on her face belied her tone. “Unfortunately, I do not need any more.”

“Your loss,” Ze’mer drew her greatnail. “Shall zhi’?”

Dryya unsheathed her own nail, and the other three followed suit.

“Gladly.”


	2. Life and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vessel has arrived for its training. It is tiny, mysterious, and has absolutely no idea what it’s getting into.

“You will have it for three hours per day,” the small, white-robed caretaker instructed the Knights standing before her. She’d intruded rather suddenly on the five of them in the training courtyard, the Vessel trailing behind her. “The rest of its time will be spent alongside his Majesty. You do not need to worry about exhaustion,” she gestured toward the Vessel, who stepped forward. “It cannot feel it. Ensure that its training is complete. His Majesty the King will be checking up on its progress!” She pointed a threatening finger at the five of them, before seeming to realize how outnumbered she was, and stepped back to bow and hurry out of the room. 

The Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel, the supposed savior of Hallownest, stood—eerily still—in front of them. 

“Hello there!” Ogrim waved. “It is very nice to meet you again, Little Knight!” 

“Oh, don’t nickname it,” Dryya crossed her arms, tapping her claws impatiently on her armor. “How long do I have to be here, Hegemol?” 

“Five more minutes,” Hegemol said shortly. 

“Juuuust enough that you get a bit of credit for bothering to appear, mela’,” Ze’mer called from the weapons rack, where she began searching for a nail small enough for the Vessel. She appeared to be having some difficulty. 

“Don’t worry, it will all be over soon,” Isma patted Dryya’s shoulder. Dryya elbowed her sharply, but Isma only laughed. 

Ogrim watched the little thing from the corner of his eye. The Vessel did not move. Did not even shift its weight, or mess with the sleeve of its robe. Childlike though it looked, it certainly did not act the part. But if it was as mechanical as the Pale King suggested, it made sense. 

It was still rather disquieting.

“Aha! Che’ has found one!” Ze’mer sang, bringing over a nail that looked comically small in her long hands. “Very tiny blade indeed, just like you! You will get a pure nail, from lovely pale ore, once you are bigger. This itty-bitty shellwood thing shall have to do until then, zhi’pupil.” She handed over the training nail. The Vessel took it, but held it out in front of itself awkwardly, like it had just been given an odd stick. 

“Ah—zhi’ shall work on that,” Ze’mer laughed.

“You have nothing to worry about, Little Knight!” Ogrim pumped a fist into the air. “We have much to teach you, but you will be one of the greatest warriors Hallownest has ever seen!” He grinned. The Vessel did not react to Ogrim’s display of enthusiasm, though Dryya rolled her eyes.

“Ogrim and Hegemol, the loud big fellow and the quiet big fellow over here,” Isma pointed, “will be teaching you the arts of unarmed combat and strength. Ogrim is a master in resourcefulness, and Hegemol‘s raw power is unparalleled.” She waved her hand towards Ze’mer, who appeared to be searching for something else near the weapons rack. “That is Ze’mer, and she will be teaching you the art of soul magic. Perhaps one day she will show you her gardens behind the palace. They are beautiful,” Isma smiled.

“Beautiful, ai, but most fragile! Do not go without my express permission and company!” Ze’mer’s threat was somewhat diminished by the fact that her head was currently deep in a large bucket of glass soul-crystals. Though it likely didn’t matter much, because the Vessel still had not moved an inch, nor shown any signs that it was even listening. 

“And I am Isma,” she put her hand on her chest, “and from me you will learn proper technique in the art of the nail, grace, and agility.” 

“She will teach you to do flips!” Ogrim grinned. 

“I was supposed to teach you this with Dryya, the grumpy bug over there,” Isma pointed over her shoulder. “But,” Isma’s tone increased to a near-yell, “I _suppose_ Dryya believes she’s _soooo_ much better than the rest of us, so she doesn’t have to help train this poor innocent creature! On, may I add, _strict orders from the King himself!_”

Dryya huffed. “Well _maybe_,” she yelled back, “the King shouldn’t assign us to babysitting duty in the first place!”

“Look!” Isma gasped, pointing at their small trainee. “You’ve hurts its feelings!” 

The Vessel did not react.

Dryya glared at Isma pointedly. “Has it been five minutes yet, dear Hegemol?” 

“I believe it has.”

“Then I’ll be off,” she waved, and strode towards the doorway to the courtyard. “Be sure to tell his Majesty how wonderful a job I did.”

“Traitor,” Ze’mer called after her, but Dryya only chuckled and shut the door behind her. 

“Well then,” Isma turned back to the Vessel. “Shall we begin?”

The Vessel stiffly held out it’s shellwood nail and looked up at her. 

“I will take that as a yes!” Isma smiled, and gestured for it to follow her, where she began to show it the basic forms. 

“Do you really believe what the King says?” Hegemol asked Ogrim slowly, watching the little Vessel nearly trip over its cloak while attempting the proper stance. 

“About what?”

Isma giggled and readjusted the small thing’s position, promising to hem its clothing later. 

“About this Vessel’s apparent... hm.” He frowned, unable to form the right words.

“The Hollow Knight, his Majesty called it.” 

Isma cheered when the Vessel finally held out its nail correctly. It did not spare her a glance, staring intently down the length of the shellwood.

“Mm, yes. The little one’s apparent... hollowness. It sounded... outlandish, to me. To have so much nothing.” 

Ogrim looked away, and then looked back at Hegemol. Something in him wrenched at the thought of the Pale King lying. But...

He watched it slowly, clumsily take a strike as Isma with its nail. Almost hesitant.

“I don’t know.”

***

“Hellooooo, zhi’pupil!” Ze’mer waved as the Vessel silently stepped over to her. “It is lesson time! Now, che’ understands that zhi’ cannot do a... ‘question and answer,’ ai?”

The Vessel said nothing.

“Che’ supposes that is an answer in and of itself. Now,” she clapped her hands together, “the basics.”

She crouched down onto her knees to be at the Vessel’s eye level.

“Magic takes power from _fareill’a_, or soul, as your people call it.” 

She slowly waved her hand, palm up, and let flecks of a pure white glow rise from it. 

“Soul is in every living thing, and even some not-living things. It is what lets zhi’ hearts beat and exist.” 

She gathered the rising flecks into her palm, and drew her other hand over it, letting it coalesce into a bright light. The Vessel appeared to be watching intently.

“Sorcerers, mages, shamans, whatever you may call it—zhi’ have learned to manipulate this... force, this energy. Zhi’ will teach you as well. To do battle. To heal.” 

She let the bright glow in her hands fall apart into glimmering flecks once more, and they rose into the air before gently fading away. 

“Most use their own soul to perform magic. Che’ has been made aware you have none of your own, but can still harness its power, ai?” She did not wait for a response, rather standing up and pulling something out of her pocket. She handed it to the Vessel, who looked at it for a brief second before looking back up at her. It was a silvery chain, and hanging off of it was a glass sphere about half the size of its hand, with two smaller ivory spheres on each side. It was simple, but smooth and unblemished. 

“Oh, here.” She took it from its hands and placed it around its neck. “Those are soul vessels. Che’ acquired them from a... less than reputable source, but you won’t tell.” She flashed a smile. The idea of a living thing that simply lacked _fareill’a_ had been an unsettling one, but... she had lived in this Kingdom for a long time now, and she trusted what its King made. 

“Now! Zhi’ shall begin with healing, che’ thinks.” She pulled her arms inward and bowed her head. “Start like this—position is... not necessarily important, but helpful.” 

The Vessel mimicked her position.

“Let us begin.”

***

Hegemol drew his enormous greatnail. He and the Vessel stood in center of the courtyard, a few yards apart from each other. 

“Hm. I have no introduction for you, Hollow Knight.” He raised it up, into a ready stance. The Vessel raised its shellwood nail, now weighted down with steel at the hilt. 

“Strike me down,” Hegemol said simply. 

The Vessel lunged, two-handed, putting all of its power and strength behind a single blow. Hegemol lowered his nail, and let the shellwood clang against his armor. 

“Forget not what Isma has taught you. Try again.”

It readjusted its grip, holding the nail higher, despite the weight. It lunged again, with slightly more grace. This time, Hegemol raised his greatnail to block the blow. He remained unmoved as the Vessel’s nail struck. 

“Your goal is to push me back. Even an inch.” Hegemol shifted his stance, bending his knees slightly, spreading his feet apart. 

The Vessel did not acknowledge him, but when it charged a third time, it slashed wildly, three times, with all of its strength. Hegemol barely even moved his greatnail to block the strikes. 

“Try again.”

When the Vessel stepped back to do so, it stared him down for a long moment. If Hegemol hadn’t known better, he would have said it looked frustrated. 

***

“Little Knight! Welcome!” Ogrim held his arms out grandly. “I have very much looked forward to teaching you!” He grinned. The Vessel stepped slowly forward into the empty courtyard. It spared a glance at the woven grass mats set up on the floor and against the walls, before looking up at Ogrim expectantly. 

“My purpose will be to teach you two things! One—“ he held out one claw—“to fight against a foe that uses unfamiliar tactics. Not every enemy will hold a nail, you know. And two—“ he held out a second claw “—to fight without a nail, on the off chance you are ever disarmed!” He suddenly gasped, and ran to the ‘equipment corner’ where the weapons rack and Ze’mer’s soul vessels were kept. The Vessel waited patiently while he rummaged around. He reappeared after a few moments, dragging a large, upright sandbag. 

“Normally,” he brushed off his hands, “I would have you practice against me. However! This is your first time training with me, and speaking from experience—punching a bug wearing heavy armor hurts.” He chuckled, and then cracked his knuckles. “Come here, Little Knight!” 

The Vessel lightly stepped over to the sandbag, where it looked at it—it was at least three times its size—and back to Ogrim. 

“Alright! Now—I want you to watch me carefully.” He bent his knees into a steady stance, and held his arms in a particular fashion, curling his claws into fists. The Vessel mimicked his movements, somewhat unsteadily. 

“Oh! That’s very good! Although—“ he tapped the Vessel’s fists. “You shouldn’t tuck in your thumbs like that. I know it feels tighter, but you are about to punch a sandbag. It... might break your thumbs,” he laughed sheepishly. The Vessel quickly readjusted its hands. 

“Now... punch it!” 

After a while of practicing stances and mutilating a poor sandbag, Ogrim dragged said sandbag back into its corner. 

“Now for the fun part!” He resumed his place in the center of the courtyard with the Vessel, which stiffened slightly. 

“All you need to do is spar with me,” Ogrim continued. “It will be a glorious battle, trust me!” 

The Vessel did not appear convinced. Although to be fair, it did not appear _unconvinced_ either. 

“If it ever gets too much for you, or you exhaust yourself, just use what Ze’mer has taught you and shoot off a light! I will see it and we can end the spar.” He rubbed his hands together. 

“Are you ready?”

The Vessel drew its nail. 

“Let’s go!” And Ogrim contorted himself into a small, armored ball, and began ricocheting across the walls and floor, the purpose of the woven mats across every surface becoming blatantly clear as they softened his impact with the palace walls. The Vessel backed away, slowly at first, then almost frantically, searching for a way to dodge that wouldn’t immediately place it into Ogrim’s direct trajectory.  
After a few more bounces, Ogrim unrolled himself, laughing. The Vessel stopped mid-flight, nearly falling on its face. 

“You’ve done well, Little Knight!” he praised. “I look forward to our next session!”

***

And so it continued. 

***

Days turned to weeks, which turned to months. Months turned to a few years, as the five Great Knights juggled their usual knightly duties with training the Vessel.

The Vessel itself grew, in every sense of the word. 

Its attacks became agile, graceful, and the little thing was harder and harder to hit as Isma’s teachings let it dart this way and that. 

Small but sharp daggers of bright soul flew from its cloak, courtesy of Ze’mer, who received no small amount of grief from her compatriots that were on the receiving end of the blades. 

It had yet to move Hegemol even a hair, but his parries became genuine. He told the Vessel so—that he needed to actually block its attacks now. Needless to say, it did not acknowledge the compliment.

Dryya still refused to train it at all. She instead took on the duties that the others sacrificed for their training sessions, keeping a careful watch from afar. 

The Vessel could eventually dodge Ogrim’s ricochets with ease, though the real sparring was more often another story. 

The first time it landed a hit on him, it reeled back, dropping its nail as Ogrim cheered. 

“That hurt, Little Knight! Wonderful job!” He clapped.  
The Vessel, though nearly as tall as Ogrim’s shoulder now, looked very very small as it stood frozen in the center of the courtyard. 

“What is wrong? Have you gotten hurt?” 

Slowly, it picked up its nail—no longer shellwood, though still a dull training metal—and it settled into a ready stance. 

“If you’re sure, Little Knight. Let us continue!” 

Ogrim joyfully retold the story to his companions that evening—it was the first time the Knight had landed a hit on any of them, after all, and “a thing to be celebrated.” But even through his retelling, he couldn’t stop thinking—about a question he was asked once, and the way the Vessel’s hands shook after its first success. 

***

***

***

(Far away, something bright and blinding _screams._)


	3. Some that Die Deserve Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague is coming, bringing Hallownest’s reckoning with it.

“Hegemol!” Isma called, running towards the Knight in question. The enormous bug was doing rounds on the palace walls, and inclined his head to acknowledge her sudden appearance. 

“One of your captains is here,” she skid to a stop, breathing heavily. The vines trailing from her armor swung over her shoulders and helmet. “The one from the Crossroads. He said it was an emergency.” 

Hegemol, as the most senior of the Great Knights, commanded the troops throughout Hallownest. His permanent jurisdiction was technically limited to the Crossroads and the City of Tears, though his guards could traverse anywhere in Hallownest. With an entire kingdom to patrol, he split his command between a few captains, each overseeing somewhere that needed guarding. 

Quickly, Hegemol followed Isma to the barracks.  
There, his captain sat on one of the beds, looking as though he’d run all the way from the Crossroads to the Palace. When he looked up, Hegemol could see a large crack across his mask, and the dried blood that had seeped through. 

“Report,” Hegemol said. The smaller bug gave a weak salute.

“One... one of my foot soldiers turned up dead,” he began. “Looked like she’d been clawed to bits. Like some sort of savage thing just shredded her.” He shook his head. “I had two of them checking out the mines. There’d been a few rumors of something... _strange_ happening in there. Her partner said they’d been separated for only a minute while he checked out a odd sound and she kept watch. He came back and she was just...”

He took a deep breath. 

“So... I took a squad into mines. If there was some sort of beast in there, we needed to take care of it. Thought maybe some Deepnest abomination had gotten real lost.” He chuckled without any mirth. “When we got in there, past the edge-miners... Sir, I’m not all that certain how to explain it to you.” 

He looked up at Hegemol with an intense gleam in his eyes. 

“It was a land of bugs made _monsters_.” He gripped the blanket on the bed with tight claws. 

“That plague—the one that we saw in a few tiktiks at first, and a couple backcountry villagers?” Hegemol nodded. “Well—turns out it doesn’t just... put you to sleep, and then... kill you with some ugly pustules. And—you aren’t going to believe this, sir.”

“Try me.”

“It kills you,” he hesitated, “and then brings you back to life.” 

Isma, who had been listening silently from behind Hegemol, gasped in surprise, too late in stifling her reaction. 

“It sounds insane, I know it does. But we went into those crystal mines, and every bug and every child looked up at us with dead eyes and tried to claw us apart.” He shuddered, and ran a finger across the crack in his mask. 

“We ran. I’m sorry to say so, sir, but we ran. Took our injured and got out of there. Found some hole in the Crossroads to lick our wounds. The creeps didn’t follow us out.

“Another one of my foot soldiers got some of that orange pestilence into a big scrape of his. Wasn’t more than a drop, but it was enough. Poor kid started hallucinating as soon as we stopped running.” The captain looked away. His claws had shredded a few small holes in the blankets, and he started picking at the threads. 

“He was dead by morning. Practically leaking the plague. We picked him up, went towards the Stags to take him to the moths.” His hands started trembling. Isma was surprised he had gotten this far without breaking—if she had been him, she wasn’t sure she would have even make it to the Palace.

“We were only about halfway there before the kid started shaking. Started groaning about light and how much he hurt. Still had no vital signs. His blood wasn’t pumping, but the plague sure was.” The captain went still, and turned his head to look Hegemol straight in the eye. 

“He picked up his nail, and nearly cut the hands off of the soldiers carrying him. Kept on groaning. Went straight for my neck,” he paused. “I saw his eyes up real close, sir. They were dead. Dead and glowing. Had to put my nail through his head myself.” 

At that, the captain seemed to sag. His shoulders slumped, and his hands shook ferociously, even as he tried to still them. “Don’t ever want to to do it again,” he muttered quietly, staring intently at his scuffed armored boots. 

“You won’t have to.” Hegemol saluted him. “You and your men can trade out with the Palace squad.”

“We have plenty of Kingsmoulds anyway,” Isma interjected, to which Hegemol nodded. 

“I will inform his Majesty. Where are the rest of your troops?”

“The infirmary, sir.”

“I will have the nurses check for plague, and then you will be free to remain here.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

The Pale King stood sharply from his throne when Hegemol and Isma entered, both swiftly bowing and standing at attention. The White Lady, Dryya at her side, both looked up in surprise as the two of them burst into the throne room. The Vessel, standing to the King’s left, merely shifted its glance to see who had arrived. 

“It is the... _infection_, yes?” The King asked, rather quickly. 

Whispers began in the corners of the room, where cleaning staff and couriers were working and waiting. They muttered about a Wyrm’s foresight, and great power—_but what use is great power against an illness?_

Hegemol only nodded deferentially. 

“This has been a long time in coming.” the King gripped the arms of his throne, and then stood. “The Vessel is nearly grown. There are preparations to be made. Knight-Captain Hegemol, tell your men this—and ensure that the people receive the message.” He paused.

“I have a plan.” 

Hegemol waited, but the King said nothing else.

“Is that all, my dear?” The White Lady asked innocently. 

“What else needs to be said?” The Pale King frowned and turned to look at his Queen, who sighed.

“We simply do not want our people to panic. There is already a safeguard being put into place against the infection—the Vessel’s role shall soon be fulfilled, when it is ready.” The White Lady gracefully rose to stand at the Pale King’s side, placing her hands on his shoulder. 

“Would you ensure this, please? Ensure our kingdom collapse with hysteria due to this sickness?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Hegemol bowed. Isma followed suit. 

“Dismissed.” The Pale King turned away. 

***

“I knew it!” Dryya shoved her nail into the flagstones of the courtyard to emphasize her point. 

“Zhi’ all knew the plague wouldst cause a problem,” Ze’mer huffed. “Che’ simply did not realize how much.” 

“But it seems like the King has a solution, anyhow,” Isma added, and tilted her head towards the Vessel, who was trying once again to force Hegemol to move. (And failing.)

“Ah yes, the Hollow Knight,” Ze’mer waved her arm, her long silks trailing. “The miracle his Majesty has produced.” 

“...Is there something wrong with it?” Ogrim frowned, lowering his voice as though trying to keep the Vessel from hearing. 

“Che’ does not know,” Ze’mer shrugged airily. “But it cannot produce its own _fareill’a,_ and no bug should live in such a way. If it can even be called such.” 

She had grown more and more disturbed as her soul-magic lessons with the Vessel continued. She had watched in growing horror at the draining, harsh nature of its spells, and the inky-black tendrils that began to swirl through them. 

“Do not be cruel,” Isma chided. 

“It does not matter,” Dryya shot back, whirling towards her. “It cannot care. Cannot think. We cannot hurt its feelings, dearest Isma. It does not have feelings to hurt.” 

“That is needlessly harsh,” Ogrim stepped forward as Isma gaped. 

“I do not trust such a creature to defend my home.” Dryya retrieved her nail and pointed it at Ogrim’s chest. “You shouldn’t either.”

“You would _blaspheme_—“

“Ogrim,” Isma placed her hand on his arm. He quieted, and looked away with an angry sigh. Dryya turned, and without a word, left. 

“She goes too far,” Ogrim muttered. 

“That is how she is,” Isma shook her head. “Let her cool her head.”

The Vessel’s nail clanged against Hegemol’s. It was nearly Ogrim’s height, now. And the Vessel didn’t seem to notice—but Isma saw the force that Hegemol now needed to put behind his parries.  
After another failure, it dutifully stood back to begin again. 

Isma gave her student’s arm a supportive squeeze, and left to sharpen her nail. There was work to be done. And apparently, a plague to be taken care of. 

***

Dryya and Hegemol were on guard when the knight broke into the throne room. The doors flew open, nearly off their hinges, knocking the Kingsmould guards at the door back. The assorted white-robed staff gasped, and began backing away, as close to the King and Queen as the could get. Looking for their gods to protect them. 

Standing in the entry was a knight that Hegemol recognized. A foreign bug, wearing scuffed armor that faintly shone a deep red. A dark cloak, made of some sort of wing not found in Hallownest. A helmet, two large horns reaching out. His eyes shone from within it, and they shone with something like hope and desperation.  
Xero had come to him not long ago, looking to join the Great Knights. He had shown promise. 

“Pale Wyrm,” Xero called. Four blades swirled around him, glimmering with the soul magic he used to lift them. “You have tortured this kingdom long enough!” 

Dryya and Hegemol drew their nails, and prepared to charge. The King held up a clawed hand.  
“Let the bug speak.” He spoke softly (but everyone heard).

“The plague is raging just outside,” Xero continued. “It is coming for your City, Wyrm. It is coming for your White Palace. It is coming for _you_.” He pointed a claw at the King, and as he did, his blades aimed their sharpened points at his chest. 

“It is the fire-bright light of vengeance, and it will not be satisfied until you have burned away until nothing but your shell remains!” Flecks of soul began to swirl around him, matching his glimmering blades. His cloak flared. 

_“I will not let our kingdom burn to ashes because of this false god’s betrayal!”_

At that declaration, the Pale King lowered his hand. 

Xero let his blades loose, and they flew straight for the King’s chest. Hegemol merely stepped in front of them, and they clanged harmlessly against his armor. Xero did not appear fazed, simply pulling a long, thin nail from his back. He let flecks of soul swirl around it, and made to charge. 

He didn’t make it three steps before Dryya met him and lunged, leaning her weight into the strike. Xero managed to parry just in time, but the next few strikes from Dryya were frighteningly quick and barely missed their mark. She continued bearing down on him, each stroke of her nail another deadly slash, forcing him to retreat until he was against the throne room wall. 

“You are a fool,“ she hissed. “and you will die like one.” 

“Better to die here than watch our kingdom fall and decay under _his_ rule,” Xero coughed. “Do you want to fall with it?”

Dryya said nothing. She flicked her nail, twisting his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. She drove her nail into his chest, and through his armor like it was paper. He sagged. 

“The light will take her vengeance...” Xero’s voice was strangled. He coughed, and the sound was harsh and gagged, echoing in the deathly silent throne room. 

“...And all of us will _burn_.”

He fell silent. 

Dryya wrenched her nail from Xero’s chest, and the body dropped to the floor with a clatter. 

Blood ran down her nail as she held it at her side, and it dripped onto the white floor. It was laced with orange, glimmering in the white light of the throne room. 

The Pale King gestured to his Kingsmoulds, waiting for their orders by the doorway. 

“Take his body out of here. Cremate it. I don’t want any trace of him contaminating my Palace,” he ordered. The Kingsmoulds bowed, and stepped toward the body. They picked it up and carried it towards the door, a bit clumsily. The servants and other staff clustered in the back scattered, reaching for cleaning supplies and returning to assignments. 

“One more thing,” The Pale King called to the Kingsmoulds, halfway out the door. They froze, as did the scurrying staff. “Bring the ashes to one of my couriers. I will tell them what to do from there.”

The Kingsmoulds tried to bow, but failed rather miserably, as they were still holding the body. The King just sighed and waved them out of the room. 

Dryya bowed to the Pale King, who nodded in return. Hegemol simply reclaimed his place at the Pale King’s side as everything bustled around them. 

“I will have the remains brought to the moths,” The King said suddenly, glancing up at the Knights. “He is to be an example. A warning—the need for unity in our kingdom, and what happens when you betray it.” He turned his head to the throne at his side. “What do you think, my Root?”

“It is grisly scene,” she mused, “but a necessary one.”

“Necessary indeed,” he said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The exposition is slowly coming to an end! I’ve got some fun stuff planned. Thank you to everyone keeping up with the story! <3


End file.
